


sinai

by phalangine



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6965407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles visits Erik in the hospital after a fight with the police.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sinai

Erik is awake when Charles reaches his hospital room. Under the fluorescent lights, with only a hospital gown and a thin blanket to cover him, he looks as wretched as he had when Charles first fished him from the sea. The sharp jut of his cheeks coupled with the depth of the wrinkles around his face suggests he is even worse off than he was then. A warm meal won't be enough to put Humpty Dumpty back together again this time.

Charles isn't certain that isn't a good thing.

He makes his way to Erik's side regardless. Erik visibly struggles to track his movements, elbowing himself up higher and squinting. His mind is blaring his confusion and pain. But no recognition.

"Hello," Charles says softly when it becomes clear Erik won't.

"H'llo," Erik slurs. He studies Charles for a long moment, the wheels of his mind spinning sluggishly as he tries to identify Charles.

"You don't know who I am, do you?"

Erik shakes his head. "No." He pauses, mind catching on something. "Yes?"

Charles sighs. "This is going to be an adventure."

 

Ten minutes later, all of which Erik used to stare at him like an especially confused goldfish while Charles got to work grading quizzes, the silence breaks. Erik, unsurprisingly, has decided he has an important announcement.

"You," he intones, "are gorgeous."

Charles' cheeks heat reflexively; he has to fight himself a moment to keep from looking up to check Erik's expression. "Yes, I am, thank you."

Bless him, it takes Erik's drugged up mind a good while to come up with a response. And when he does, it's the most _Erik_ reply the man could have come up with.

"What about me?"

Charles snorts, but as he makes to brush the question off, he gets a pulse of concern from Erik. A closer look shows that yes, this is something Erik's subconscious has been trying to work out. It hasn't put Charles together with the Charles it knows yet, but it's more preoccupied with finding an answer than finding it from the right person.

"You would have made an excellent model in another life," Charles says eventually. It rings false even to him, but he isn't about to get invested in a conversation Erik may well forget the next time he falls asleep.

Erik accepts the platitude, but any hopes Charles might have had that he would be content to play with that until drifting off die when Erik presses. "But do _you_ think I'm pretty?"

Charles should have got his phone out earlier and recorded this from the beginning. It might wind up being funny later. "Yes, darling. You're the prettiest man I've ever seen. Though I do prefer you a bit heavier. You ought to eat more protein if you're going to be fighting injustice. And don't skimp. I suspect one of the children could knock you over with a sneeze, thin as you are."

That gets a rather more serious nod than he had anticipated, but Erik doesn't push him for more, just runs fumbling mental fingers over his new information.

Soon enough he's back asleep, and Charles moves onto the next set of papers.

 

The next time he wakes up, Erik is glassy-eyed and insistent.

"You're beautiful," he says first.

"Thank you, Erik."

"Are you- Do you really exist?"

"Yes, Erik."

"Can I touch you?"

"Only if you'd like to add a broken nose to your list of injuries."

"Is that why I hurt? Why do I hurt?"

"Well, the short version is: you played chicken with the police and lost."

"Oh..." Erik trails off for a moment, lost in his own blurry thoughts, before riling. "Lemme hold your hand?"

"No, thanks. I'm working with it right now."

"But I wanna."

"And I wanted to have a bath and too much wine tonight. Life's tough, darling."

Erik falls silent at that, which becomes another nap.

 

"I know you," he says when he wakes.

"You do."

"But I don't remember your name."

"I'm Charles."

"Charles."

"Very good."

"I miss a Charles. Are you that Charles?"

"Probably."

"You don't know?"

"Sorry, old chap. It's been a long time since we spoke, and even when we did, I never seemed to understand you."

Unfazed, Erik insists, "My Charles is the best Charles. Even though he fights me. He called me a monster once on TV. I'm not a monster. Am I?"

"No, you're not," Charles assures him. He hadn't thought Erik saw that train wreck of an interview. "You're a pain in the neck, but you're not a monster."

To his horror, Charles realizes the sniffling isn't coming from him but Erik.

"I love Charles. But he hates me."

"I doubt that."

"He does. He wants me to get caught."

"You did uproot quite a lot of New Jersey."

"Nobody cares about New Jersey," Erik says dismissively. "It's not my fault everything is metal. Besides, I put it back."

Erik has begun to assimilate to American culture after all. Admittedly, showing up in a cape and shouting about having the solution to everyone's problems when he really only has the torch from the Statue of Liberty and little inclination not to take a few swings with it is probably the most American thing Charles has seen.

He doesn't tell Erik that. Even drugged to gills it would probably set him off. "Yes, you did," he says instead. "I'm sure people were happy you didn't ruin the G.W. Bridge."

"They love that bridge too much," Erik complains. "I wish Charles loved me. I always think about him. He was the first person who wanted to talk to me since I was little. He was short and he looked so soft, and I wanted to kiss him. Everything I do is for him- for all mutants, but he's the one I love most. He pulled me out of the ocean."

Never let it be said that Erik Lehnsherr doesn't have a way with words. Charles has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. "Did he now?"

"He did," Erik tells him brightly. He beams at Charles, the genuine joy in the expression clear in the way he bares his teeth and his eyes wrinkle. He looks like a little boy with a brand new Hot Wheels car to throw at his sister.

Charles basks in the sappy pleasure pouring off his too-frequently somber friend. If only Erik weren't doped up. A real smile could do him some good.

The thought is the sort of rabbit hole Charles had thought were firmly in the past. He might have gotten lost in it if Erik didn't interrupt him by adding, "And he gave me my _mame_ back. She died because of me."

Charles' heart stutters. "Oh, Erik. Erik, no. No, she didn't."

Erik shakes his head. "She did. I miss her, too, and Tate and Ruth. Why does everyone I love leave, Charles? Why can't I keep any of them?"

"I don't know, love. But I do know it's not your fault."

Erik lets out a shuddering sigh but doesn't reply.

They sit in silence after that. Erik doesn't fall asleep; his mind stays a gray slur of too many half-thoughts. It makes Charles' gut twinge in sympathy. He tries not to get caught up in Erik's mind, but he does anyway. It tugs at him until he gives it the impression of hands holding it steady. The poor thing is nearly green. He debates and ultimately decides to push Erik's consciousness back a bit to make effect stick. It ought to help with the nausea as well, which is still bothering Erik.

Charles is just considering whether he ought to ask a nurse about that when Erik snatches up Charles' hand.

"Don't go," he pleads before Charles can snatch it back. His voice is hoarse, his eyes wide and bright with tears.

"I won't," Charles lies.

Erik lets out a wet breath. After a moment, he drops Charles' hand and rolls onto his side, presenting Charles with an unobstructed view of the shaved bit on the back of his head where the doctors had to shave it to suture the wound that almost knocked Erik out of this life.  Seeing it brings bile up Charles's throat. He almost doesn't hear Erik's response over the sound of swallowing the acid back down. Almost. Quiet as it is, he still catches the quiet, "You will. You always do."

 

««»»

 

When Erik wakes, his head feels like he went nine rounds with a heavyweight and lost. He reaches up to find the source, only to be stopped by a shark voice telling him, "I know you aren't touching that wound."

Eyes narrowing, Erik sits up and prepares to go off on the intruder. He bites his tongue instead when the woman's eyes flash yellow.

Mystique crosses to his bed in perfect silence. "Good morning, fool king," she hums. "How's the kingdom?"

"My head hurts."

"Getting shot with a rubber bullet and smacking your face on the pavement will do that to you." She says it cheerfully, but the hand the touches his forehead is gentle. "You're lucky Charles got there when he did. I couldn't hold off that many myself, and he said they were going for kill shots."

Erik twists to look in her eyes- _too fast, too fast_ \- and asks, "You saw Charles? How was he?"

Once, she would have told him all without hesitation. Now, she hesitates.

_"Mystique."_

Her eyes go soft in a way that means he's won. Charles' eyes always did the opposite. "Yeah," she admits, "I saw him. He looked- He looked good. Pissed, but healthier. He must have gained some weight back, because the nurses didn't all fuss over him."

Heat unclenching, Erik relaxes. Charles was here, and he was all right. It can be painfully hard to keep track of the man in the moment. Chair or no- helmet or no- Charles will find a way to slip under Erik's awareness. If Erik had hurt him, he could never forgive himself. Well, hurt him _more_.

Charles may not begrudge Erik the accident anymore, but part of Erik always will.

"Hey!" Mystique snaps her fingers at him. "No spacing out. Charles gave me strict orders to take care of you."

"Really?"

"Really."

They talk shop for a time, but Erik's head really is pounding hard enough to make his vision swim. Mystique lets him lie in peace without an argument, and if Erik had thought she was simply being solicitous before, he knows better now. She is not a compassionate woman, his former lieutenant. Not that she's cruel- she is the product of hate, a hard edge that covers any softness that may have survived.

Beast- Hank- seemed to have found some of that well-hidden kindness last Erik knew. So had Charles, and the children she teaches.

He must fall asleep, because he wakes up curled up on his side with something hard and sharp digging into his hand. He pulls it out with one hand, the other rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The sharp object is easy to identify- a business card, one with a familiar name and address. He doesn't get the message at first, at first assuming this is another of Charles' riddles. Then he flips it over and sees the almost-neat teacher's scrawl over Charles' name.

_Come over, and I'll fix your headache._

He can't help but chuckle. Charles' handwriting has improved dramatically since he started the school. It was dreadful when Erik first met him. The early days of their recruitment saw a lot of Erik taking notes and information down and very little of a bashful Charles writing anything. At one point, he asked Erik fill out paperwork for him after the CIA rejected it for being illegible. Erik agreed to do it, so they spent an entire evening going over Charles' family history and body statistics, which should have made Erik uncomfortable but, with Charles there and full of wine, only made him laugh as his new friend derailed the questions with absurd family lore and his own misadventures.

If nothing else, Erik misses the sense of ease Charles brought with him. Erik had been relaxed for the first time in years; he had felt a break from the constant drive to redeem his people's deaths. It was good. Charles was good.

For a time, _Erik_ was good.

Someday he will take Charles up on his offer. Someday, when his mission is finished, he will go to Charles- to the school where Charles' wealth can buy their children a sliver of safety- and ask to be let in. He dreams of it desperately. All this violence wears him thin; he wants to go home and rest. He wants to have a home.

He wants to crawl into bed at night and hear Charles breathing next to him, and he wants to wake up knowing their kind no longer fear the police.

When he finally leaves the hospital, Mystique at his elbow, Erik tucks the card securely into his shirt pocket.

**Author's Note:**

> Forever ago there was this video of a guy on hospital drugs telling this woman how beautiful she was and getting thrilled at finding out she's his girlfriend. So I Cherik'd it. Naturally there was more angst than fluff. Cross-posted at my [tumblr](http://phalangine.tumblr.com/post/144914823276/sinai), which looks a bit abandoned but you can prompt me there if you like.


End file.
